


In Tangier

by bryonyashley



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Ficlet, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 20:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16102901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryonyashley/pseuds/bryonyashley
Summary: Illya is jealous and Napoleon is clueless...or maybe the other way around.  ;)





	In Tangier

**Author's Note:**

> I was organizing some old photographs I took on Tangier few years ago and suddenly I had an ephipany. Tangier! A friendly haven for spies and gays during the 50s-60s and since Napoleon and Illya fit perfectly in the scenario I got inspired to write a little something. 
> 
> Shout-out to the amazing RileyC for her help. All mistakes are my own.

~~~~~~~~~~

Napoleon sat at one of the café tables in Grand Socco, sipping a mint tea and watching the square getting crowded with street vendors and strolling tourists. He could see Illya getting a shoe shine in the palm-ringed plaza near the fountain, fingers tapping against his leg nervously.

Napoleon sighed. Gaby was doing fine, chatting nonchalantly with a couple of agents (he’d hear her through the receiver before reaching the square), acting as a mediator for some extremely confidential documents in a van parked almost in front of them on the street. It was an easy mission, but Peril was very smitten and just as much worried about his Chop Shop girl.

He heard the screech of a metal chair being moved, beside him at the round table, and looked up. A young fine man wearing ivory linen pants and shirt, was looking at him carefully as he sat down. There was something unsettling in those dark eyes, in the shared smile slowly spreading across his face, and Napoleon suddenly recognized that gaze: unspoken desire. Probably the man thought he was one of them, those tourists coming to Tangier from all over the world to have sex ‘of a certain kind’. Birds of a feather flock together, as the saying went.

He looked away, feeling exposed, and got up from his chair, annoyed, while the young man winked at him. Napoleon walked away, wondering if his inclinations were so obvious, if Illya was really clueless, if Gaby had spilled the beans.

Later, with the mission accomplished, Gaby was stretched on the couch in a safehouse in Boulevard Mohamed V, laughing at something Illya had just said. Napoleon ventured onto the balcony, watching the full moon lighting up the medina, drinking one last sip of scotch and thinking _love is a poison_ and _fuck, I need to get laid._

He went back to the room, ready to call it a night. Gaby was sleeping soundly and he bumped into Illya who was towering over him with a frown and a strange glint in his eyes.

“You were careless this morning, Cowboy,“ he started.

Napoleon furrowed one eyebrow. “What?”

“That boy at the cafè had set his sights upon you and you got all flirty and distracted by him. Very unprofessional,” continued Illya, the tone of his voice displaying something that Napoleon couldn't quite figure out.

 _Not so clueless, after all._ “I definitely wasn’t flirting with him. He is not even my type,” Napoleon answered defensively, meeting Illya’s probing gaze.

“What is your type?” asked Illya, voice low and determined, hot, vodka-flavoured breath, sweet and tantalizing like their closeness.

For a moment Napoleon was speechless, suddenly feeling heated. _The game is over, isn't it ?_ He took a deep breath. “Blond, stubborn, demanding and….”

The shock of Illya suddenly kissing him was electrifying and Napoleon let the Russian take control, almost incredulous at the way Peril was pulling him closer, fingers tugging up his shirt, touching the bare skin of his back and chest, nibbling his lips and whispering “Cowboy…” like it was a prayer.

“Peril...yes..” murmured Napoleon, cupping lllya’s face in his hands, searching his eyes, kissing him with all the meaning he couldn't find words for.

If love was a poison, the only antidote was Illya.


End file.
